Blood Stains
by Thargelion
Summary: The reaping of the first Hunger Games. (Written for the Early Days contest on Caesar's Palace forum.)


**This oneshot is written for the Early Days contest on Caesar's Palace forum, and explores some of the flaws in the first Hunger Games, as seen by Tarja, an Avox whose job is to clean the blood from the arena floor.**

**As with my Hunger Games OCs, I named most of those in this fic names in different languages, because, while this is not canon in the THG universe, I like different languages and I like to be original with names.**

**Tarja- Finnish for 'wealthy'**

**Argyris- Greek for 'silver'**

**Alexios- Greek for 'defender'**

**Ailith- Scottish for 'noble war'**

**Allaway- Scottish for 'wild field'**

**Also, instead of the 'Hunger Games', the Games are called the Bellum Games. Bellum means 'war' in Latin- I thought that, as the name of the nation Panem is in Latin, the Hunger Games might start out having a Latin name.**

**Yes, I'm fully aware that the Hunger Games 'wasn't like this' in the 74th Games. This is the first Games, and I'm taking creative license with them, because they certainly didn't start out as they were in the time frame of the novels.**

**Lastly, I also know that this oneshot doesn't cover much time, but it'd take several chapters to go through the entire first Games, so I'm focusing on the reaping.**

**Thanks to Slim, [Chasing Silmarils] for beta-ing.**

* * *

Excited whispering came from the lipstick-covered mouths of the Capitolians. Nervous chatter drifted in from the windows- the one hundred thirty people from ages eight to twenty-five that were candidates to be tributes waited outside, no doubt anxiously. Clipped, hissing voices with Capitol accents came from all around Tarja, speaking about the reaping, which would take place in minutes. The arena was packed, filled to the brim from the bottom row to the very top row, which was so high that the heads of the spectators that sat there were outside of the arena.

"Ms. Letting, please proceed," came a familiar voice. Tarja placed it as the voice of Mr. Alexios Argyris, the wealthy Head Gamemaker, her master.

A woman stood from the seat to the left of Tarja. With a gleeful smile, she whispered, "I'm just so excited!" to Tarja in an intimate way, as if it was an embarrassing thing to be so childishly excited over the Games. Tarja smiled politely with her lips closed, as she always did, and instantly wiped the smile from her face as soon as Ms. Letting turned and left the small room under the stone bleachers. All those who worked for the Head Gamemaker -and Mr. Argyris himself- sat in the room, in neat rows of uncomfortable metal chairs. There were chairs for the all the Gamemakers, the interviewer, the speaker, and Tarja. She'd heard others -especially the speaker, Ms. Letting- complaining about the quality of the chairs, but she was just thankful that she was allowed to sit.

Ms. Letting walked out into the middle of the arena, carrying with her a microphone. Cheers came from all directions, ricocheting off the walls and up through the open ceiling, into the sky. Tarja could hear excited talk about Ms. Letting's eccentric leaf-covered dress -which Tarja deemed to be the most hideous thing she'd ever seen- and she didn't know why the Capitolians made such a big fuss over clothing when they forced their servants to wear clothes that would be acceptable to wear in the Districts.

"Aren't you all so excited?" Ms. Letting asked the crowd. "I am!" she repeated with a grin.

_Yes, you are, _Tarja thought with disgust, _you're excited, and I get to mop up the blood of the people that you choose to fight to the death. How can you be excited?_ She glared down at her lap. Across it laid the handle of a mop, which was gripped tightly by her nervous hands.

Ms. Letting walked around the arena as she welcomed the spectators to the first annual Bellum Games, an overexcited grin seemingly plastered on her face. She explained the reaping to the spectators. Tarja had heard this explanation many times throughout the past few months, so she didn't listen. But she silently recited it along with Ms. Letting.

There were to be twenty-four tributes -from the Districts, of course- that would fight to the death in the arena. They would be chosen from the reaping ball, a glass ball filled with slips of paper reading the name of every possible tribute. Each tribute's name was only in the reaping ball once. When the tributes were drawn, they would be interviewed immediately afterward. The next day, two of them would be thrown into the arena to fight to the death. When a victor emerged, the rest of the pairs would fight, until there were only the winners twelve. Then two winners would fight, and two more, until there were only six tributes left. They would all fight in pairs again, and there would be only three left. These three tributes would fight each other at the same time, until two of them were dead, and a final victor was crowned.

The Capitolians cheered even more after Ms. Letting's explanation. Tarja felt as if she might be sick.

When the first tribute was called -loudly enough that they would hear their name from outside- her hands shook as they stepped into the arena. Her face was pale and splotchy at the same time, as though she had been crying. She couldn't have been more than ten years old. Tarja didn't see a rebellious girl from the Districts when she looked at her- she saw an equal, and she pitied the girl.

Mr. Redgrass, the interviewer, stepped out into the arena with his own microphone. "So, Ailith Allaway of District Seven, what do you think of being drawn as the very first contender in the Bellum Games?" He grinned at the crowd, oblivious to the girl's fear.

Ailith burst into tears and attempted to run from the arena, but there were Peacekeepers blocking her way. She fell backward, having ran into them, and she landed on the hard, unpolished stone floor, stabbing her leg on a stray sharp piece of rock jutting from the abrasive floor. Blood came from it, staining the stone. Some of the Capitolians gasped at the sight.

_If you want to watch people fight to the death, why are you so squeamish about a little bit of blood? _Tarja thought angrily, as if her thoughts could be heard by the spectators.

A meaty hand clamped down on her shoulder, startling her. Mr. Agyris, the Head Gamemaker, stared down at her. "Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to clean that up, Avox?"

For a moment, Tarja felt a rush of anger. _I have a name! _she wanted to snap, but of course she couldn't. Mr. Agyris noticed the anger in her gaze. Sternly, he added, "If you're not happy with your job, I'm sure the arena's morticians would be happy to hire you." Tarja's stomach churned at the thought. She got to her feet with weak knees and stumbled out into the arena, holding her mop as one might clutch tightly to the hilt of a sword when they were about to draw it. With an apathetic expression, she reached Ailith, who was sobbing at the feet of the Peacekeepers that had knocked her to the ground.

Wishing in vain that she could speak, she tapped the ground with her mop in a signal for Ailith to move. The newly-reaped tribute ignored it, or most likely didn't see it. Tarja cleared her throat, a painful hacking sound that she usually avoided intentionally producing. That got Ailith's attention. With wide, tearful eyes, she looked up at the Avox.

Her cheeks burning at the thought of how ridiculous the scene must seem to the Capitolians, Tarja pointed to the left. _Move to the left, move to the left, _she silently thought. A mixture of commiseration and impatience swirled within her at the sight of Ailith's uncomprehending, tear-stained face.

"What?" Ailith said hoarsely.

Using her most obvious gesticulation, Tarja signaled left, making a shoving motion with her free hand. She was frustrated enough to actually shove Ailith. But she pitied the new tribute, and she knew that if she even laid a finger on her, Mr. Agyris would tell her that she had no rights to touch even the poorest District citizen. Thankfully for her, Ailith understood this time, and she stood and moved to the left, her pale fingers trying in vain to stop the bleeding of her leg.

_The Games haven't even started, _Tarja thought bitterly as she began to mop up the blood, _and there's already blood on the arena floor. Fortunate for them that I'm here, isn't it, so they have someone to get their hands dirty and wipe up the blood?_


End file.
